


raise you from your sleep

by cydonic



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, F/F, Face-Sitting, Knifeplay, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 08:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10382487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydonic/pseuds/cydonic
Summary: An unknown party arrives in the Imperial Palace. Vivienne has an insatiable curiousity.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RowynSN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowynSN/gifts).



> This fic isn't set in the Inquisiton universe necessarily, but it is roughly that timeline. Pretty much an excuse for me to write three thousand words of Leliana and Vivienne having sex. I'm not sorry.
> 
> RowynSN, I hope you like this! :) It's been a pleasure to write Vivienne.

Vivienne spots her across the room, a figure she’s never seen before, and asks for a dance. She admires the way her cheeks flush a little, the way she dips her head in sheepish acceptance. It is, Vivienne notes, all an act. No one is so practiced at being awkward, not when their eyes flit from door to door, keeping a watch of something. Vivienne's own eyes track her body, noting the way her clothes fit. They bulge in places clothes should not, which has likely fanned the flames of gossip throughout the building by this point. Instead of pointing it out, Vivienne smiles politely.

“You must be new, my dear,” Vivienne says, taking the lead, twirling the other woman around.

“I am,” comes the response, with a thick, Orlesian accent.

Vivienne pulls her further into the crowd, their steps finding time with the other couples effortlessly. It is a joy to dance with someone who is so capable and light on their feet, her companion keeping perfect time with Vivienne. They are the only pair of women out on the dance floor, but no one dares to ask about it. Vivienne has made an example of enough people that she can go unquestioned during most activities.

“Might I ask your name?” Vivienne asks, sliding in closer to her dancing partner as the song transitions into something more intimate.

The girl smiles in response, and Vivienne almost misses a step. Throughout her life Vivienne has seen many beautiful people smile, but none smile at her like _that_ , like they know her darkest secrets without even trying. “Might I ask yours?”

Vivienne slides a hand down the woman’s side, and confirms her suspicions about what is hiding there. She is no fool, and the slight bulge on her thigh beneath her coat is unmistakable. That, and the way her boots hang loose around the calf – out of trend in Val Royeaux at present, and a mistake no woman at court would willingly make – suggest to Vivienne only one thing. This woman is here for a more sinister purpose than dancing.

Vivienne leans in closer so that her lips almost brush against the other woman’s cheek. “Let’s not be coy, darling, I think you already know who I am.” As she spoke, Vivienne lifted the dagger from its hiding place, pressing the hilt of it into the woman’s chest.

“That I do, Vivienne,” her name sounded like a sin coming from those lips, rolled over that tongue, delivered with such a self-satisfied smirk. Vivienne felt a hand wrap around hers, taking the dagger from her grip. “You can call me Leliana. I am sure we will meet again very soon.”

Leliana, to her credit, returned the dagger to her side and completed the dance with Vivienne. When the music finished they bowed, and Leliana placed a kiss to the top of Vivienne’s hand, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

Vivienne thought intensely of those eyes and that smile that evening.

The next morning Vivienne awoke to a clamouring outside her chambers. She lit the candle at her bedside and pulled on her gown, intent on sorting out whatever was going on outside. Vivienne did not take kindly to be awoken in the middle of the night, and unless it was a matter of life and death those making the noise would be punished accordingly.

Vivienne’s demand to know what the fuss was about died on her tongue when she opened the door to find a man lying there, neatly trussed up and entirely unconscious. The staff were flittering about, and two guards round the corner as Vivienne crouches down to investigate the body.

In his coat pocket Vivienne finds a contract, the parchment soft from repeated reading and folding. It outlines the terms of their deal neatly: a hundred sovereigns for her life. Vivienne is, if nothing else, offended – she is surely worth more than that.

She searches further into the pocket and retrieves another note, this time new and uncreased.

_Sleep tight. x L_

_\---_

Vivienne tracks Leliana down to an old inn, located somewhere between Montsimmard and Val Foret. She is wearing her travelling clothes, understated but luxurious, and a fur hood is pulled low to keep her head warm. When she ducks into the building it envelopes her with a sense of warmth: the crackling fire in the hearth, the scent of freshly-cooked food, and the crooning voice of a minstrel in the corner.

Vivienne does not fool herself into thinking for a moment that Leliana is not expecting her, either. She is not so foolish as to allow her communications to be intercepted, especially not with such a clear description of her route. It could all well be a trick, a clever ruse to draw Vivienne from the safety of the Imperial Palace and into this small tavern to dispose of her properly.

That, in a way, attracts Vivienne more to the prospect.

She pays for a pint in small coins and occupies a table in the back corner of the room. No one pays any mind to her as she sinks into the shadows there, the ale in front of her untouched.

It is not long before a body materialises at her side, and Vivienne pointedly does not look at her. This is a game, Vivienne knows, and she has played enough of those in her life to be certain of her next move.

What Leliana does, however, is unpredictable. She slides not into the free seat opposite Vivienne, but onto her lap, straddling her with a leg each side. Vivienne is unable to keep her eyes away and looks at Leliana, most of her features cast in shadow except for that damn smirk of hers.

“Madame de Fer, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Leliana asks, and Vivienne starts when she feels something cool against the side of her neck. She initially suspects it is a nail, but the glances down enough to spy the carved handle in Leliana’s hand. It’s a knife.

Vivienne feels entirely blank, which never happens to her. “You really must cover your tracks better, darling. Someone less savoury might find you next time.” She answers at last, a tad breathlessly, feeling her pulse beat against the cool metal blade.

Leliana chuckles, and Vivienne realises that she is horribly aroused by this entire series of events. Never before has a woman held a knife to her neck and laughed at her, and Vivienne’s mind is suddenly thrilled by it. She has lost any advantage she may have had. Leliana has the upper hand. And Vivienne is enamoured with the idea.

There’s a quick movement by her neck, and Vivienne feels a sudden sting. She’s about to ask what Leliana thinks she’s doing, but then Leliana’s mouth is on her neck, sucking the place she just sliced and all conscious thought goes out the window.

“Come with me,” Leliana whispers in her ear, teeth scraping the edge of her jaw as an afterthought, and then the weight on Vivienne’s lap is gone.

She stands abruptly and follows Leliana without a second thought, leaving behind her undrunk pint for some unfortunate soul to take advantage of. A down-on-their-luck worker or some such – Vivienne could write it off as an act of charity.

Leliana enters the room first, and Vivienne follows, trying not to look as desperate as she feels. When the door falls closed behind them, Leliana is on her, pressing Vivienne’s body hard up against the wall. “Madame de Fer, always in such control,” Leliana purrs against the side of her face, hands gripping her hips, nails turned in like claws. “Don’t you think it would be lovely to let someone else tell you what to do?”

Vivienne wants to say yes, but she doesn’t want to give in so easily to Leliana’s ploys. They both know what her answer will be, but Leliana will have to draw it out of her.

Of course, Vivienne is correct in her estimation of Leliana, that she is a woman who doesn’t back down from a challenge. One moment, Vivienne has her chin tilted up, trying to maintain some modicum of dignity – the next Leliana has roughly jammed her thigh between Vivienne’s legs, and Vivienne is helplessly gasping a, “ _yes_.”

Leliana smirks and steps back. “Good. Take off your clothes.”

“What?”

“Your clothes. Remove them,” Leliana elaborates with a wave of her hand, settling herself down on the bed and crossing her legs. “Or are you disobeying an order?”

Vivienne exhales and then starts the process of unbuttoning her overcoat. As each piece of clothing is removed, Vivienne takes care to fold them and place them on a chair by the fire. Leliana’s eyes are sharp and focused on each movement, and though Vivienne is stripping her clothes away she feels as though her skin is being peeled back to reveal her soul under such intense scrutiny.

The firelight plays across her dark skin, casting shadows of red and purple and orange across the planes of her body. Vivienne shifts her weight from one foot to the other as Leliana stands and walks around her. She feels unerringly like a mare, being assessed for her qualities before purchase. Leliana drags a nail down the back of her thigh and Vivienne gasps, a trail of gooseflesh following.

“I should like to tie you up,” Leliana says at last, coming to stand behind Vivienne, her fully clothed body fitted against her naked one. “Is that okay?” Leliana’s left hand reaches up and rolls one of Vivienne’s nipples, making her whole body shudder.

“Yes,” Vivienne says on an exhale.

“Good.”

Leliana takes Vivienne’s hand and pulls her over to the bed, coaxing her down onto the scratchy linens. “Tell me, Vivienne,” Leliana says conversationally as she pulls from a bag at her bedside a thick coil of rope, “where was it that we met?”

Vivienne’s eyes are on Leliana’s fingers, watching as she knots and unknots the rope, testing the heft of it in her skilled hands. “The Imperial Palace,” Vivienne answers a moment too late, as Leliana makes a loop around her own wrist.

“If you need me to stop, you need only say those three words,” Leliana has crawled forward and settled over Vivienne’s lap, pulling the rope behind her back. “Understand?”  
  
Vivienne nods, and then Leliana begins tying. The rope is coarse around first Vivienne’s neck, and then her chest, but as Leliana works it becomes something more beautiful. It reminds Vivienne of the man she’d found outside her room, the knots around his wrist and ankles joined by some intricate rope pattern, only on a whole other level now. The knots make a line down her chest, the rope crossing behind her back. Leliana takes care to leave a gap for her breasts to poke through, sparing a moment to rub the pad of her thumb over each nipple and watch it peak.

By the time Leliana is finishing off a knot over Vivienne’s navel, she is desperate for more touch. The rope is harsh and Leliana’s fingers are gentle, but they are avoiding the areas Vivienne aches the most, and she would grab Leliana and take what she wanted if her hands were not now bound behind her body.

Leliana sits back after that lost knot to admire her work, and Vivienne cants her hips upwards in askance.

“Patience,” Leliana murmurs, leaning down to kiss the inside of Vivienne’s thigh. Surely she can see her desperate she is, surely she can smell Vivienne’s arousal from that close because she must now be soaking through the sheets.

“I don’t have any,” Vivienne grounds back, and Leliana laughs again.

With her knife, Leliana cuts the rope and takes the excess away to bind Vivienne’s legs, one ankle to each bedpost. By the time she is done, Vivienne is all but immobile, her whole body thrumming with nervous energy.

Leliana, still fully clothed, takes her time drawing her fingernail along parts of Vivienne’s body. She scratches down the underside of one arm, then along the pointed ridge of Vivienne’s hipbone, before digging into the tender flesh at the top of her thighs. She presses a finger gently to Vivienne’s entrance, torturously slow, sliding inside her body once and then back out.

She crawls back up Vivienne’s body, the contrast of Leliana’s smooth skin and the coarse rope leaving her shaking. Leliana presses her nail into Vivienne’s bottom lip until she obligingly opens her mouth, tongue darting out to taste herself.

“You’re normally so talkative,” Leliana hums, body pressing down on Vivienne’s, making her gasp around the finger between her lips. “I think I prefer it when you use your tongue for other things.”

Then she’s climbing up Vivienne’s body, settling her knees at either side of Vivienne’s face. She can’t pinpoint the moment when Leliana, covered head-to-toe, became Leliana, wearing a tunic and nothing else, but Vivienne isn’t about to complain either. Leliana is running a hand over her head, looking almost pityingly down at her. Vivienne has, in her opinion, one of the best views of her life: pale thighs leading up to thick, auburn curls, a hint of sensitive flesh. She realises belatedly that she’s straining against her bindings, hands struggling to free themselves to explore. How Vivienne longs to leave finger shaped bruises and crescent-moon welts on that unblemished skin.

Leliana lowers her body down until she’s sitting on Vivienne’s face. Vivienne is surrounded by her, the taste of Leliana on her tongue, the heavy scent of arousal enveloping her. Vivienne licks along Leliana’s folds, feeling the muscular thighs by her cheeks quiver. She dips her tongue inside Leliana, craning her neck upwards to reach. She works with the enthusiasm of the sex-addled, unable to think but committed entirely to the act. Her tongue moves in thick, clumsy strokes, her nose buried up near Leliana’s clit – and, from the sound of it, giving some pleasurable contact in that way too.

Vivienne cannot get enough. Leliana is twitching above her, moaning and wriggling, thrusting her hips down unevenly onto her tongue. She’s never served anyone like this – she likes to be worshipped, have people kiss her from the sole of her feet upwards, but this is the opposite. She’s nothing but a thing right now, a vehicle of pleasure for someone else, and it’s almost obscene how close she is to her own orgasm from this contact alone.

Leliana makes a little noise, entirely different to her others, when she climaxes. It’s almost a whine, high-pitched and taken raw from her throat, not premeditated like so much of their contact has been up until now. Vivienne doesn’t ease up, continuing to lick and suck until all she can taste is Leliana.

At last Leliana sits up, and Vivienne keens at the loss. A hand comes down to pat at her cheek, a _‘job well done’_ implicit in the gesture. Leliana runs a hand through her hair, which has fallen out of its carefully constructed braid, and smiles down at her.

“You are so good with your mouth, Madame de Fer. Perhaps I should reciprocate,” Leliana mumbles, slowly working back down Vivienne’s body. She is so wound tight that every touch, every kiss, every drag of teeth on flesh, is met with a breathy moan. By the time Leliana is settled between her spread thighs, Vivienne is begging, and that’s something she swore she’d never do even with a blade to her neck.

Leliana lowers her face so that Vivienne can only see her eyes above the crest of her pubic bone, the smirk on her face unseen but not unknown. “What would you like me to do?” Leliana asks, and Vivienne knows she’s doing it on purpose because her lips are close enough to her clit that Vivienne can feel the hot air rush over it and it makes her cry out.

“Touch me, please,” Vivienne pleads, wishing the ropes gave her room to push her hips that little bit further.

Leliana does, and it takes no time at all for Vivienne to get lost in her orgasm. In another situation, she might just have been embarrassed by such a performance. There’s a few gently presses of a tongue in carefully selected places and she’s falling apart, back arching off the bed, the ropes the only thing keeping her grounded in the present.

When Vivienne returns to herself, still panting, eyes fluttering, Leliana is smiling gently at her. “I’m going to cut these off now,” she says in the sweetest voice, without hidden threat or suggestion. The dagger is back in her hands, and Vivienne eyes it warily. “I’ll be careful,” Leliana assures her, and gets to work.

The process of cutting the bindings is intimate in its own right. Vivienne watches, enraptured, as Leliana severs the ties so cautiously that not a single piece of Vivienne’s skin gets caught up in it. The ropes come apart piece by piece until Vivienne is entirely unbound, skin criss-crossed with fibrous indents. At each place the rope touched her, Leliana presses a tender kiss, as if a mother calming a child. Vivienne wants to say that she doesn’t need to be coddled, but she can’t deny her enjoyment.

“I’ll run a bath,” Leliana murmurs against Vivienne’s neck, at the point where the highest knot was.

Vivienne finds herself nodding along, and then Leliana is gone, disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. It is surreal to sit there and touch yourself, to find your body marked in a way both intricate and fleeting. She is just pressing fingers to the thin line of clotted blood on her neck when Leliana returns and takes her hand.

Vivienne allows herself this, too. She lets Leliana coax her into the tub, the water warm, and she lets the other woman clean off every inch of her skin. It’s in such stark contrast to the woman who had pressed a blade to her neck in the inn, and who had trussed her up like a hog.

“Why are you being so kind?” Vivienne asks as Leliana starts rinsing the suds off her shoulders. “I’m not a child, I am fine.”

“I know you are,” Leliana says, pressing another kiss to the back of Vivienne’s shoulder. “We all need someone to take care of us sometimes.”

Vivienne snorts a laugh. “You just tied me to a bed, that is hardly taking care of.”

From behind, Vivienne can sense the knowing smirk. She hears Leliana hum, feels her fingers against her neck. “Giving up control can be an act of care.”

Vivienne opens her mouth to protest before realising she has nothing to say


End file.
